


United We Stand

by DragonTail



Series: Transformers: Cybertron [10]
Category: Transformers (Unicron Trilogy), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Cybertron
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonTail/pseuds/DragonTail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The greatest threats ever faced by the Transformers now stand united! In the face of the ultimate evil, legends will fall, heroes will falter and existence itself will be forfeit! But when all hope is gone, when the hour is at its darkest, one shall rise... and <i>all</i> will be one!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

All it took was the slightest thought – a line of coding, fed from his processor down a length of fibre-optic cabling and into his systems. A slight re-direction of power flow here, a minute telescoping of a ventilation funnel there, and ruby lasers erupted from the ports on his forearms. In fact, firing his arm-mounted blasters was the easiest thing in the world for Optimus Prime.

But that was the point, wasn’t it? Violence _was_ quick and easy. The more abrupt and savage the solution, the more simplistic it was. Since that awful night in the Imperial Amphitheatre, Optimus had sought other ways to quell the disquiet on his home world. Though matters had frequently come down to open warfare, it was not for a lack of trying on his part – every peaceful solution had to be exhausted, every time, before the Autobot leader would grudgingly lift his weapon and fight.

Some – most noticeably Grimlock and Thundercracker – openly disagreed with his philosophy. The ex-Decepticon favoured the blitzkrieg attack – annihilation before retaliation. Grimlock had a simpler opinion. In the Dinobot’s mind, there existed mechanoids with whom one simply could not reason. These enemies, he believed, should be shot on sight. Optimus had long refused to accept either’s advice, insisting that every being – no matter how evil – deserved a chance to change its ways.

Purple lightning crackled past, almost taking off his head. Optimus dropped to the floor and landed hard, grunting. As he watched his own blasts glance off the dense armour of his foe, he began to revise his opinion on warfare… and on second chances.

Optimus transformed, shifting his body into the shape of a red truck cab, and accelerated. He switched on his powerful headlights, hoping to blind or disorient his target before slamming into it with crushing force. It took just a sweep of his enemy’s arm to lift him off his wheels and send him crashing into the far wall.

Megatron… Unicron… _whoever_ was inside the jagged, patchwork chassis… smiled. Wordlessly, the giant raised both hands and _gestured_ , causing lightning to erupt from its fingertips. Optimus howled as the electricity stabbed into him and shredded all six of his tyres. He forced himself to transform back to robot mode, trying to fend off the lighting with his bare hands. As he sank to one knee, the assault stopped. Optimus looked up and saw something had wrapped itself around the neck of “Megacron”.

“Get out of the way!” Vector Prime yelled as he clung desperately to the writhing, struggling Decepticon. “I will deal with this villain as Primus intended it be done!”

Painfully, Optimus crawled away from them and tried to recover his strength. He saw his trailer, far on the other side of the chamber, but was too dizzy to operate its numerous weapons systems by remote control.

 _We were so close_ , he thought grimly, _so close to saving the entire universe. My Autobots had recovered the four Planet Keys – the ancient artefacts that could transform our home world, Cybertron, into our creator, Primus. The Decepticons had been driven away, our planet retaken from their hostile grasp after nine million years of conflict. Peace was so close I could almost taste the end of our long struggle._

_I should have realised… it never ends._

He glanced toward his troops. All of them were alive, thankfully – he would have felt their Sparks passing into the Matrix had it been otherwise. The more resilient among them… Ultra Magnus, Thundercracker, Rodimus… were beginning to stir. Others, such as the already-wounded Checkpoint, lay worryingly still. Optimus knew he had to keep Megacron’s attention diverted until his back-up could recover and enter the fray.

Vector Prime sailed past him, and not under his own power. Optimus grimaced. _That’s going to be even harder than it sounds_.

\-----

Rodimus groaned, running an orange hand over his aching cranium. He felt the urge to make a clever comment, some variant on _Did anybody get the number of that truck?_ , but resisted it. Any foe that could take the entire team down in one go was too powerful to joke about.

He pulled himself to his knees and looked around. Ultra Magnus was already on his feet and surveying the situation. Everyone else was out cold, knocked into stasis lock by the painful purple lightning. Everyone, he noted with a twinge, _except_ Thundercracker. _That’s just perfect_ , he groused internally. _The one guy online just had to be Arcee’s new boyfriend, didn’t it? Gah!_

The ex-Decepticon locked optics with Rodimus, then leaped at him. “Move!” he snarled, throwing himself into both the stunned cavalier and Magnus. By firing his foot-mounted thrusters, Thundercracker shoved the Autobots several hundred metres across the chamber, almost to the edge of the Well of All Sparks. Over his shoulder, Rodimus saw a crackling mass of energy drop, like a net, over his friends. The lavender strands bit into their armour and held fast, pinning everyone… Nightbeat, Arcee, Scattorshot… to the shimmering ivory floor.

“Terrific,” Magnus grunted. “Looks like we’re on our own.”

“Don’t thank me or anything,” Thundercracker quipped sarcastically. “Because, you know, you’d have looked quite fetching in an energy net ensemble.”

Rodimus snorted. “I liked it better when you were brooding and _silent_ , Decepticon.”

The aerial warrior smirked. “Blame your _ex_ -girlfriend,” he said. “She brings out the best in me, you know.”

Something in Rodimus’ exploded, and he brought up his fists. Magnus forced himself between them. “Get your head back in the game, soldier,” he snapped. “I’ve told you once and I don’t want to have to tell you again… stow it.”

Rodimus slumped as Thundercracker laughed. “You too, Decepticon,” Magnus said curtly. “I don’t pretend to understand what’s going on, but it stops now.” He pointed across the chasm. “Any negative feelings you have, aim them over there.”

From behind, the giant that attacked looked like some sort of mechanical dragon. It had wings that rose high from its shoulder blades and then hung, low and long, toward the ground. Something about that design… and the shape of its head… were familiar, but Rodimus couldn’t make the connection.

“Megatron,” Thundercracker growled.

“No way,” Rodimus replied.

“I’d know him anywhere, no matter what he looked like,” the ex-Decepticon snarled. His posture, his entire demeanour had changed. Gone was the laconic, almost apathetic warrior who slunk into their briefings and disassembled everyone with sarcasm. This was the Thundercracker who’d haunted the skies above Iacon… the midnight blue spectre of death. “ _That_ is Megatron. No question.”

“Then we’ve got our answer,” Magnus concluded. “The invasion of Iacon was a distraction to give Megatron time to… well, to change into whatever he’s become… and then come here.”

For a second, Rodimus’ head swam. He rubbed his static-filled optics, then shielded them from an intense explosion. Across the chasm the giant fired, again and again, at Vector Prime. The old Transformer roared in agony under the assault, which was not purple lightning. It was some ordnance the cavalier had never seen before.

Magnus cocked his head to one side, a thoughtful look crossing his face plate. It was an expression Rodimus knew well – the only outward sign of the tactical genius that occurred within the Earthforce Commander’s processor. “Are you armed?”

Rodimus shook his head, and Thundercracker swore. “My wing sword’s back under the net! How the frack did he…”

“This has all been planned,” Magnus said with a note of grudging admiration, “to the last decimal point. I’m a walking weapon, and all my systems are disabled… save for those activated by Powerlink. However he did it, Megatron _deliberately_ disarmed us all, intending to later trap us.”

Magnus dropped to one knee, stretching his other leg out behind him and leaning forward onto his knuckles. He looked like one of Earth’s athletes, crouching before the start of a running race. “Cover me however you can,” he barked. “I’ve got to get over to Prime. Fast. Combined, we might actually stand a chance.”

Rodimus looked around, but the only gun nearby was Optimus’ shattered ion rifle. There was no way that was going to work. A short distance away, Thundercracker bent down and picked up Vector Prime’s discarded sword. The ex-Decepticon waved the glowing blue blade through the air and whistled. “This’ll do,” he said admiringly.

Rodimus looked down at his empty hands… and was struck by an idea. Concentrating, he initiated a partial transformation, causing his forearms to flip around on themselves. His hands folded into his elbows while two long, thick tubes… the afterburners of his vehicle mode… snapped into their place. He shot Thundercracker a caustic grin. “If the Big Bot wants cover fire,” he said, “I’ll give him cover _fire_.”

“Finally,” Thundercracker sighed with mock exasperation, “you’re using your head as something other than a battering ram.”

The cavalier raised his arms and activated the afterburners, sending jets of flame cascading over the chasm. Beneath it, staying low to the ground, Magnus moved his bulky frame as fast as he could, using the fire as a shield. Thundercracker leaped into the air, the sword gripped in both hands, and hurtled toward his former leader.

“You’re mine, Megatron!” he roared with a voice like death itself.

\-----

He was going to fail. _Again_.

Vector Prime barely felt the pain of his crushing landing. It paled in comparison to the torment that ran through his systems. For so long, he had lied… told half-truths, at best… to the very mechs and femmes he should have trusted. By his actions, the ancient Transformer had signed the death warrant of his race – and of this universe.

He knew what he _should_ do. He should transform into vehicle mode, target the Master Planet Key and shatter it with his nosecone cannon. That would ensure Unicron lost access to Vector Sigma and, therefore, to the still-vulnerable Primus.

The Chaos Bringer had, no doubt, survived the destruction of his physical form by hiding within Megatron’s psyche. His desire for a new body would have merged with the Decepticon’s quest to use Primus as a battle suit… a war world… turning them into an engine of hatred, lust and destruction.

Primus _had_ to be spared that fate. It was the only way the universe would survive the inexorable hunger of the black hole. The Key _had_ to be destroyed – but if it were broken, scattered to the winds, so too was all hope of closing the singularity. It was an impossible decision, and Vector Prime had but seconds to make it.

When one controlled time, however, mere seconds were more than enough.

Concentrating, Vector Prime slowed the chronal flow within the chamber. The combatants shifted into slow motion and the deadly lightning hung in mid air like bizarre tree branches. The old warrior spread his arms to his sides and rose up on his toes, allowing himself to float gently off the floor.

With his processor, he called to the Master Planet Key. His link to the artefact, unused for countless millennia, was nevertheless intact and it responded to his pleas. Silently, it too lifted from the ground and made its way slowly toward him. He begged it to move faster, but it was caught in the same time distortion as the rest of the room.

A long, low growl filled his audio sensors. He opened his optics to see Megatron/Unicron glaring at him, venom spewing from its mouth. Unwilling to let go his concentration, Vector Prime could but watch as, atom by atom, a Force Chip spun into life next to the hideously twisted mechanoid. This Chip was unnatural, a thing of straight lines and angles rather than curves. A Decepticon symbol was stamped boldly on its centre, and Vector Prime found himself transfixed to it as the Chip slotted into Megatron’s back.

Time moved slowly. The Chip caused a piece of the creature’s wing to break free and loop, through the air, to his left forearm. It connected with a thunderous _clang_ , throwing a row of spikes up from its top edge. The protruding front of the device telescoped open, and Vector Prime shuddered with fear. He knew all too well what it was – a fusion cannon, a horrifying weapon not seen since the first generation of their kind. It drew its power from pools of anti-matter… like the black hole above them.

Vector Prime wrenched his body, forcing time back onto its normal path, but it was not enough. The cannon fired, again and again, striking him in the centre of his chest. His armour had been toughened by the centuries, and it resisted the first few salvos. It could not hold up, however, under such prolonged assault and he fell back, roaring in pain. Far too far away, the Master Planet Key dropped also.

Chronal energy gushed from his ruined torso. It danced into the air and was buffeted by jets of flame. Delirious, he saw Ultra Magnus and two others rush their colossal enemy, wielding naught save his discarded sword. He hoped their youth would succeed where his duplicity… his shame… his stubborn refusal to trust… had failed.

\-----

Megatron’s blows were overwhelming, shaking every inch of his chassis. The Decepticon leader had always been larger than Optimus – close to twice his height – but that hadn’t mattered before. Thanks to the power of the Matrix, and the reformatting he underwent through its energies, the Autobot leader had always been more than a match for his eternal foe. Now – with the power of Unicron either feeding him or controlling him, depending on your point-of-view – Optimus was hard pressed to repel the fierce warrior.

“You’ll never defeat me,” the creature spat contemptuously – only the second time it had spoken since the nightmare began. The comment was _classic_ Megatron… arrogant, superior and utterly deluded. A being Optimus knew all too well how to handle. For a moment, his confidence soared.

“Haven’t you been paying attention?” he retorted. “It’s all I _ever_ do!”

Abruptly he stopped struggling, letting his arms go slack. He ducked as Megatron surged forward, then straightened up again. Robbed of his balance, the would-be Chaos Bringer flipped over himself and clattered to the ground head first. Optimus danced back, trying to put some distance between him and his foe while he planned his next move. _Because that trick is not going to work again_.

“You’re mine, Megatron!”

A dark form pushed past him and slammed into the fallen Decepticon. Blue light slashed through the air and down, time and again, into the prone beast. Thundercracker’s optics were alive with fury, and a red glow seemed to emanate from every inch of his metalwork. Optimus had heard of the ex-Decepticon’s legendary “warrior’s spirit” but never seen it, until now. It fuelled every blow… and, amazingly, damaged Megatron!

Thundercracker wielded Vector Prime’s sword as if it were his own, using the holy relic to splinter and fracture inches of black, orange and grey armour. “It’s time, Megatron,” he yelled, oil and fluid spraying from his frenzied mouth. “Time to redress _centuries_ of wrongs, to avenge the perversion of an ideal! You’re not just unfit to lead the Decepticons, Megatron – you are unfit to wear our mark!”

He brought the blade down, cleaving the centre of Megatron’s insignia.

“You’re no warrior, no great military leader or strategist. You’re a calculating butcher, a power-crazed zealot who needs to be put down. You have to die, right here, if the Decepticons are to have any chance of being free from oppression! You have to…”

He stopped, choking. One of Megatron’s hands had snaked out, avoiding the furious onslaught, and snatched him by the throat. Optimus moved to intervene but it was too late – the ex-Decepticon jerked, went limp, and slumped to the floor like a broken toy. Megatron had broken the valiant warrior’s neck.

\-----

Lights danced before Vector Prime’s optics, coalescing into an image. Dazed, he realised he was seeing _through time_ , via the escaped chronal energies, and into one of the myriad alternate realities. Two mighty warriors… one silver, one crimson… battled atop a golden city. They were clearly on Earth, though the buildings around them seemed to be Cybertronian.

With a start, he gleaned the identities of the combatants – they were Optimus Prime and Megatron, though in forms totally unlike those seen in his own reality.

A youthful voice echoed from the side of his vision. It belonged to a smaller Transformer – an Autobot, by his markings – coloured in the red and orange hues. “I’ve got to help Prime!” he yelled.

Vector Prime watched as the young warrior interceded in the struggle… with fatal results. Distracted, the Optimus of this divergent reality fell, managing with the last of his power to strike down Megatron. Two leaders dead, all because of the folly of a brash solider called…

“I’ve got to help Prime!”

There was the voice again, but in his own reality. Vector Prime struggled to look around and saw Rodimus charging toward them all. His optics were fixed on a point past the old mech where – from what he could hear – Optimus and Megatron were fighting hand-to-hand. Any distraction would be fatal… most likely for the Autobot leader.

Desperately, Vector Prime threw himself into Rodimus’ path, using his body to trip up the cavalier. He struggled around to pin the fallen cavalier, ensuring he could not get in the way of the main battle.

“Stay… away, lad,” he choked, slurring each word. “That’s… Prime’s fight.”

Then his optics went dark, and he slumped onto Rodimus’ squirming body.

\-----

Optimus felt a hand on his shoulder but did not react – he already knew it was his brother. Throughout their lives, he’d always been able to sense Magnus’ presence, as if their connection were somehow deeper than the friendship they shared.

“There’s only one way out of this,” he said. “You up for it?”

Magnus smiled. “Who wants to live forever?”

As one, they began the transformation. Optimus’ legs reshaped themselves into arms. His head and the Matrix folded away beneath layers of armour. From a secret compartment sprang a second head – blue, with gold piping and red optics. His trailer barrelled across the chamber and lifted, turning into a pair of heavily-armoured legs. The two segments fused together, and Optimus flexed his golden fingers.

Magnus underwent a similarly radical change. As he soared into the air, the lower halves of his legs slid across and fused to his wrists, then changed again into long, lethal cannons. His torso shifted and opened, exposing magnetic connection plates that locked onto matching devices on Optimus’ chassis. With a planet-shaking crash, the two warriors became one, sending a blue wave of Matrix energy through their bodies.

Optimus – the gestalt’s dominant mind – turned and lashed out at Megatron with one enormous foot. The perverted creature cried out in alarm and so he intensified the assault. They were finally back on an even keel. He rained blow after blow onto his enemy, disgusted by the violence and yet giving himself over to it. Though it went against every fibre of his being – every moral he held dear – Optimus knew there was no other option.

Megatron fell back, further and further, under the hellish attack. Finally, Optimus took two steps back and powered up Ultra Magnus’ cannons. They were the single most destructive weapons in the Autobot arsenal. They had downed star ships and melted through the original body of Unicron. Optimus had never used them against a living Transformer… and certainly not as he intended to use them now.

Turning his attention inward, he accessed the power of the Matrix. Thundercracker’s last stand had provided the inspiration. He’d used a sword, forged by one of Primus’ first children – to damage the Chaos Bringer. That blade, a weapon of creation, had upset the entropy-heavy balance of Unicron’s evil Spark. It all boiled down to those conflicting energies, the very essence of all conflict. Neither Primus nor Unicron could prevail, because their energies – while damaging – always cancelled one another out.

The Matrix was different. He knew, from his experiences, it was not just a force of creation. By storing the Sparks of the dead, it had become a receptacle of destruction as well – a perfect balance of the twin forces that had secretly guided the destiny of the Transformers. Optimus believed the orb to be more powerful than Primus and Unicron and capable, perhaps, of destroying them both. It would not only upset their creation/entropy content, but replace them with its own perfect balance. Its energies could cancel out either of the “gods”, for it replaced both their functions.

All it took was the slightest thought – a line of coding, fed from his processor down a length of fibre-optic cabling and into his systems. A slight re-direction of power flow here, a minute telescoping of a ventilation funnel there, and Matrix energy flowed into Magnus’ cannons. Their power doubled, then trebled, then swelled beyond measure.

Turning a sacred life force into a weapon was the easiest thing in the world for Optimus Prime. But that was the point, wasn’t it? Violence _was_ quick and easy. The more abrupt and savage the solution, the more simplistic it was.

Suddenly, he felt his own Spark twitch and begin to move, inward, toward the sacred artefact. Through their mental link, he heard Magnus cry out. He knew… they both knew… what it meant. If they were to employ the Matrix in this fashion, to have it consume and replace Unicron, it would likely consume them as well. Violence, he remembered, always had a consequence.

Magnus’ voice whispered in his processor. _This is the purpose_ , it said, _for which Transformers like you and I were made_.

Optimus stopped hesitating and unleashed the full fury of the cannons.

Their energy was blistering, and the temperature within the chamber soared. He saw Megatron’s chest buckle, then give way. It was hollow, devoid of Spark or system. Optimus tried to console himself with that thought as he poured more and more power… more and more of his own life… into the attack.

Megatron… Unicron… _whoever_ was inside the jagged, patchwork chassis… opened his mouth in a wordless scream. A dark, almost liquid substance flowed out from the gaping jaw and vomited into the pristine white of the chamber, then slithered toward the tunnel and away. Optimus paid it no heed, focusing all of his attention on the creature before him. Its expression twisted and changed and he knew, once again, he was looking at Megatron. “It’s over, Prime” he sighed, sounding more relieved than angry.

Optimus felt a knot, somewhere deep inside him, untie. For a second… just the briefest of moments… he felt relaxed and at peace. “Yes,” he whispered. “It truly is.”

The explosion claimed them all.

\-----

Rodimus gave a mighty heave and shoved Vector Prime’s body off of him. The old mech was in stasis lock – damaged, but repairable. He didn’t know why the old fool had jumped in the way, and didn’t care.

Thundercracker was a little further away, his body at odd angles. The cavalier realised his neck had been broken – not a fatal injury for a Transformer but certainly one that’d take you out of the fight for a while.

None of that mattered. All Rodimus wanted to do was get into the thick of it and tear Megatron a new tailpipe.

He yelped as a shockwave knocked him off his feet and pinned him to the wall. A rush of energy… blue energy, that tingled rather than burned – washed over his armour. It didn’t hurt, but the pressure of the wave front did, and he felt his body begin to crumple and bend. Mercifully, the force fell away and he dropped back to the ground.

“What the frack was that?” he wondered aloud.

Across the chamber, the purple net fizzled, popped and faded from existence. A group of very sore but very angry Autobots rose up, one by one, with their weapons at the ready. Primus only knew how long they’d been conscious and trapped but, judging by Grimlock’s incensed expression, it had been a breem or two at least.

“By the Matrix,” Tow-Line gasped. Rodimus followed his gaze, then broke into a mad run. He bolted across the white floor, his feet drumming a staccato beat, and skidded to a halt in the middle of the carnage.

Megatron… or what was left of him… lay to his left. The Decepticon leader was a mess of melted steel and evaporated wiring – more sludge than machine. There was no light in his optics and no colour to his bodywork. Rodimus knew the devil that had haunted Cybertron for nine million years was, at long last, dead.

To his right… to his right was the sight that broke his Spark. A once-mighty gestalt had fallen into its component pieces, making a cruel triangle of loss. Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus lay hunched and crumpled on the floor… their bodies turning the unmistakable grey of the dying.


	2. Chapter 2

Red Alert’s hands moved, expertly, over the cooling chassis. Delicately, he wiped away soot and blaster burns to expose real injuries – tangible faults and glitches he could do something about. Rodimus watched in awe, amazed – as he always was – at the depth of the doctor’s abilities. If anyone could save Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus from terminal stasis lock, it was…

“Magnus is gone.”

At Downshift’s words, the cavalier looked up, agony spreading across his face plate. The others wore similar expressions… Scattorshot looked like he was about to collapse. Over to the side, the Autobot’s engineer and “mad scientist” stood up and shook his head, his entire frame shaking with impotent fury and overwhelming grief.

“There was… just nothing. Nothing I could do,” Downshift whispered, his voice hoarse. “It’s like… it’s like he’s not even _there_ anymore. Just gone, so quick.”

Arcee went to him, draping a friendly arm across his ivory shoulders. She’d been tending to Thundercracker a short distance away. The ex-Decepticon was paralysed from the neck down, thanks to Megatron, but would recover with a CR treatment. Rodimus was pleased to note the smug killer kept silent, respecting their grief.

“I just can’t believe this,” Scattorshot moaned. “Magnus can’t die. He’s… too _big_ to die. ‘Specially like this.”

Grimlock spoke up. “Red Alert, what happening with Prime?

The doctor sighed loudly. Rodimus was used to him being clinical, even dispassionate, but Red Alert’s pain was as obvious and acute as anyone’s. _Optimus and Magnus aren’t just leaders_ , he thought to himself. _They’re friends. To all of us_.

“There’s a hundred wounds I could treat,” Red Alert said, “but not a single one of them is fatal to a Transformer. There are systems I can debug or reboot, patches I can apply to stop software dumping, and it’ll achieve nothing. Optimus’ Spark is still present, but it’s so faint… it’s almost like he’s given up on living.”

“Dead by the sword he hated living by,’ Nightbeat said absently.

“What you mean?” Grimlock demanded.

“That blast… it was well beyond even Optimus’ capabilities,” the detective said. “We’ve all thought he and Magnus tapped into the Matrix in their combined mode. The energy inside that orb… well, it’d be capable of creating firepower like we saw.”

“And, at the same time,” Checkpoint added, “taking both of their Sparks.”

A low moan echoed through the chamber, causing everyone to jump. Rodimus looked down – Optimus was moving! Despite the pallor of his metalwork, the damage to his systems, he was _actually moving_!

Hushed, excited cries went up. Grimlock did not join in – he strode to his leader’s side and bent down, cocking his head to Optimus’ ruined mouth plate. “Prime,” he said quietly. “What you say?”

No one moved, or made the slightest of sounds. Optimus’ voice was so low and crackly it did not make it further than Grimlock. Whatever was said, it caused the Dinobot some consternation.

“You joking,” he muttered.

Their leader rasped again, this time wheezing audibly. Again, his words were too corrupted to make out and, again, Grimlock responded poorly. “Dying no excuse for going crazy,” he groused. He rose looked at those gathered.

“Out,” he barked. “Take dumb ‘con and old mech with you.” He gestured toward the still-unconscious Vector Prime. “Leave that,” he grunted, indicating the Master Planet Key. It lay in a deep furrow on the floor – damage caused by the Matrix-powered blast. Though the surface around it had melted, it was untouched.

“Inner circle stays,” Grimlock finished. “Rodimus stay, too.”

 _Me?_ the cavalier wondered. _What’s going on?_

“And who the frack are you to be giving orders, Grimlock?” Tow-Line demanded. “Each and every one of us here, we’re all fought beside Prime and Magnus. You’ve got no right to march us out of here like a bunch of glitching recruits – not at a time like this!”

The Dinobot snorted. “Case you not notice,” he said, waving a hand over the fallen warriors, “me ranking officer in Autobot army. That all the right I need. You jump off Tower of Pion, I tell you to. Now get the frell out of chamber.”

“You heard him!” Snarl howled, stepping in front of Grimlock and waving his bayonet menacingly. “Your new leader gave you an order – you would be wise to obey it, and realise how much better off you’ll all be now that…”

“Shut up, Snarl,” Grimlock sneered. The wolf turned, shocked, straight into another rebuke. “Suggest you use big ears of yours for _listening_ instead of air intakes, before you claim to speak for me. Now get out.”

The Animatronian glowered, steel hackles rising on his back. Grimlock didn’t move… but his optics flushed a deep, dangerous crimson. Cowed, Snarl moved toward the tunnel. One by one, carrying the injured, the Autobots filed out toward the surface.

Rodimus was left in the chamber with Grimlock, Red Alert and Silverstreak… the surviving members of the inner circle. He was left, too, with the bodies… Optimus, Ultra Magnus and Megatron. He still couldn’t believe the despot was dead, at long last. He half expected the Decepticon commander to leap up and spout some diatribe about resurrections. There was no doubt, however, that Megatron was dead. His body was grey, his crushed chest hollow and devoid of Spark.

Grimlock walked over and scooped up the Master Planet Key. “Where I slot this?” he called over his shoulder.

It was Vector Sigma, the spherical supercomputer, that responded. “Before Cybertron was, _I_ was,” it announced.

“Broken record,” the Dinobot sighed. He stepped over to the golden sphere. Rodimus watched as it floated down, closing the gap and obstructing the mouth of the Well of All Sparks. It _wanted_ the Key to be inserted.

Deftly, Grimlock slammed the silver artefact into a random spot on Vector Sigma’s surface. The supercomputer flared a brilliant, blinding gold. A ripple of yellow energy spread through the chamber and up the tunnel, returning it to its original blue-and-purple grid look. Then the sphere descended into the Well and out of sight.

“One more thing out of way,” the Dinobot said after a moment. “Just one thing left. Much as me not believe it, time has come. Never think I have to be one to carry it out. Was sure I’d be long dead.”

He rubbed his face plate. “Prime, he say to me ‘it time, Grimlock’. Me say he joking, he not anywhere near ready. He say ‘make him ready, Grimlock – make him understand’.” He spat fluid on the floor. “Nice job, thanks _so_ much.”

“Uh, can I just ask…” Rodimus began.

“I know what you mean,” Silverstreak interrupted. “Sure, this is a war and all, and casualties are part of a day’s work. You never really expect to be laying the Big Bot to rest and having to… well… _you know_.”

“Know what?” Rodimus tried again. “Can someone…”

“Have a little faith,” Red Alert offered. “If there’s anything we’ve learned in the last few megacycles, it’s that there’s a measure of truth to the legends. Primus, Unicron, the origins of our race… why not this, as well? It has more of a basis in our history than anything else. Silverstreak, you and I saw it with our own optics last time.”

“Me didn’t,” Grimlock sniffed. “Wish I had, now.”

Rodimus put his head in his hands. “I’ve had just about _enough_ of this!” he cried. “Someone better give me some answers soon or I’m going to…”

“Peace, Rodimus,” came a faint, haunting voice from below them. With a start, he realised Optimus was talking. “Until all… are one.”

He watched, stunned, as Prime’s chest grille flipped open. Small jets of steam hissed as the thick plating swung up, revealing the Matrix of Leadership. The sacred object glittered in the dark surrounds of the chamber, tracing blue outlines in their metalwork. It was the only colour on Optimus’ body… he had died an instant after speaking, the action of opening his chest having drained the last of his energy and sapped his life force.

“Until all are one,” Grimlock, Red Alert and Silverstreak said in dour unison. The Dinobot stepped over to Prime’s corpse, seemed to pause and steel himself, and plucked the Matrix from its chest cavity. He hefted it for a moment then turned to Rodimus. “This yours now,” he said, the words catching in his synthesiser. “You Prime now.”

Rodimus’ jaw hung slack.

Grimlock frowned. “What you waiting for – pat on back from Council of Ancients?” he roared furiously. “Take shiny bauble and get leading!”

He felt Silverstreak’s hand on his shoulder. “Remember what I said to you, back on Speedia?” he asked. “I said ‘I can see why Prime has such big dreams for you, kid’.”

The cavalier remembered. They’d been in Accel City, in the heart of The Pits. Downshift had wanted to cause a distraction and steal the Planet Key, even if it meant injuring the locals in the process. Rodimus had erupted.

 _I think you’re missing the bigger picture_ , he’d said. _For four million years, we Autobots have been fighting a war with one goal – to win a peaceful home for each and every Transformer. Well guess what? Here we are on a world that’s a peaceful home for each and every Transformer – Autobot and Decepticon alike!_

_And what’s the first thing you want to do? That’s right, break out the guns and shoot the place up! Blow a few holes in a few buildings, cause some property damage and steal the artefact around which their society is based. You know who that sounds like? That sounds like Megatron to me!_

_These people don’t know war. They don’t know loss. They don’t know what it’s like to have their city blown to scrap while they helplessly watch! Let’s not be the ones to bring it to them. Let’s play this by their rules, achieve our ends through their culture. Let’s be Autobots, damn it, and save our world without spitting on our ideals!_

“That was the first time I heard it,” Silverstreak said. “The Prime in you. Optimus, he’d heard it for vorns – almost since you popped out of your stasis pod, he used to say. Whether it was the guidance of the Matrix, or just his own talents, Optimus knew his successor when he saw him.”

Red Alert grasped his other shoulder. “Optimus gave you leeway, let you make your own mistakes and question orders so you’d _learn_ ,” he said. “Your whole life, you’ve been training for this without even realising it.”

Rodimus shuddered. “I don’t know whether to be honoured or annoyed,” he said. Brutal honesty had always been his forte. “This is kind of creepy, to be honest. You’ve all been plotting this, behind my back, for vorns? What gives you the right, and what if I have something to say about my destin… urk!”

Grimlock had seized him by the throat. Rodimus scrabbled at the thick, tough digits with his own but could not move them. The Dinobot’s optics flashed murderously.

“Get this through thick head,” he whispered, every syllable thick with spilled oil. “Mechs call this thing ‘burden hardest to bear’ and I sure they right – leadership no picnic, even when you think you right choice to be in charge. Right now, you have no choice but to take Matrix. When you do, there no room for self-doubt or whining… no time for crying for old days, or longing for less responsibility, or running away from reality.

“You take this, now, and become leader you created to be – leader we all see, even when we no want to see it. You take this, now, and place it in chest… evolve into new Prime … or it get rammed up your tailpipe so hard your head rattles. Understand?”

He nodded frantically, and Grimlock let go. Rodimus slumped to one knee, his head lolling, and held out his hands. There was a slight tingle when the Matrix touched his fingertips… like it had checked him out and found him to be worthy. He stood up and looked into its blue crystal centre, studying his reflection in the facets. It was full of fear.

Was he ready? Not in the slightest. He was still grieving, still reeling from the loss of his heroes. He was being asked – told – to _replace_ them, the greatest Autobots who’d ever lived! It was crazy, just as Grimlock had first said. He wasn’t equipped to lead an army, an entire race of mechanoids!

But then neither had Optimus, according to the stories. He’d been a timid archivist, a mech who’d never picked up a blaster in his life. Optimus had to learn along the way, making mistakes and underestimating enemies. He’d been a mechanoid of peace plunged into a world of war – and told to confront it from the highest spot on the ladder.

Rodimus had, when he thought about it, a few advantages. He’d spent vorns on battlefields all over the galaxy and – he looked around – had a group that was willing to pick him up whenever he fell.

Through his pain and grief rose another emotion… heady excitement. He’d made a career of acting without thinking, of taking rash and ill-advised steps. It had bred within him a sense of daring, a taste for adventure. There was no greater adventure than this – being asked to step into the shoes of his greatest hero!

Sadness overwhelmed him again. _My greatest heroes, plural._ Two mechs he respected, idolised, above all others had been snuffed out. Rodimus was being given a chance to do something in their honour – to carry on in the way they’d have wanted, in their names. Inwardly, he promised himself that – if he was to be leader – he would base himself on them both, and try to fulfil the potential they’d seen within him.

He _wasn’t_ ready, would _never be_ ready… but, at the same time, he had no choice but to accept.

Rodimus took a deep breath, opened his chest cavity, and inserted the Matrix.

\-----

The sky above churned, the ground below heaved. Arcee clutched at Thundercracker’s useless body, trying to keep it still. A broken neck was easily repaired but, with all the bouncing around, the ex-Decepticon’s head could lever off… fatally… before they reached a CR chamber. _Not going to happen_ , she thought grimly, and hung on.

Mercifully, the shuddering stopped. “There’s nothing in the planet’s make up to cause geological shifts like that,” Swerve said quietly. “So the problem’s up _there_.” He waggled a mangled finger at the black hole.

Downshift nodded. “Now Megatron’s gone, the singularity’s obeying physical laws as it should, rather’n bein’ the remote-control revenge’a Unicron,” he said. “I…”

Another quake rumbled through the area, knocking them off their feet. Swoop transformed and took to the air, only to be thrown back by gusting winds. Omega Supreme toppled. Transforming to their vehicle modes, the members of the Build Team managed to catch him _just_ before he fell on the unconscious Vector Prime.

The teetering giant cast his shadow over them. In the darkness, two points of blue light… two ancient optical sensors… flared. “Worry not, young ones,” Vector Prime said groggily. “The tremors you feel are not our destruction but, rather, our _salvation_.”

Snarl made a low, rumbling sound. “Now I _know_ you’re crazy, old mech. Whenever the ground moved like this on Animatros, the liquid fire was about to burst forth. Every time it did, it signalled _huntnomore_ for hundreds of my kind. You would have us stay in the middle of danger, all for the sake of the dead?”

The ancient Transformer put his palms to the ground and pushed off, rising unsteadily to his feet. He rolled his shoulders through their joints, working out the stiffness. For the first time, Arcee saw the gaping, energy-spewing wound on his chest. Vector Prime covered it with a hand, and the tiny dots made a fizzing sound.

“The Keys have been inserted, and Primus has been awakened,” he said. “Now He moves to transform and save us all.”

“Transform?” Downshift asked. “Right now?”

“Ifthat’sthecase,” Blur stammered, “Thenwereallyoughtabesomewhereelse! Imean, if the wholeplanet’sgonnaunfurllikewedo, thenwereallydon’twannabestandingonaseam! Because, ifyouthinkaboutit, that’dbeacrappyplacetobestandingwhentheseamopens!”

“No more dawdling, then,” came a familiar voice. “We get move on, find safe place to hole up until Mr Creator decide he finished shaking joint apart.”

Omega’s shadow blanketed them, but there was no mistaking that voice. Arcee let out a quiet sigh of relief as Grimlock, Red Alert and Silverstreak joined the group. An abrupt wave of panic flooded her systems. _Where’s Rodimus?_

A fourth figure stepped from the tunnel. His silhouette was totally unfamiliar, and it was impossible to pick out details in the bad light. With a heave, the Build Team righted Omega… and starlight gleamed on fresh metalwork. Arcee’s optics telescoped – she’d never seen _this_ Transformer before.

He was shorter than Red Alert but just as bulky – every inch of his frame whispered _power_ and _strength_. His lower legs, outer arms and high, peaked shoulders were a vivid blue, while his central torso was almost black, with tiny golden highlights. His forearms and upper legs were red, matching the two large cannons rising from his back. A golden visor topped his blue, helmed head, and a Prime-like mouth plate obscured all but his optics. They were an icy, crystalline blue… the colour of the Matrix.

The stranger drew close and seemed to look down, forlorn, at her. Then he raised silver fingers to his head and pulled down the mouth plate, revealing a very familiar face.

“Rodimus!” she cried.

“Rodimus _Prime_ ,” Grimlock corrected. He spread his hands as if making introductions. “Autobots… new leader. New leader… Autobots.”

He grinned sheepishly at them – an expression so familiar, it left no doubt as to his previous identity.

“There are not enough words,” Tow Line moaned, “to express how very, very big a mistake this is.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Silverstreak snapped, crossing the gap to the journalist. “Optimus himself used to say…”

“Silverstreak,” Rodimus said calmly. “It’s fine. Stand down for a second, okay?”

The gunner nodded and moved back. Rodimus slid his mouth plate back into place and fixed them all with a cool stare. “I know this is unusual,” he said, his voice deeper than Arcee had ever heard it. “Trust me. I’m _inside_ this new body, looking out at all of you, so it’s especially unusual for me. I don’t pretend to understand this yet… to have half, or even three-quarters of the answers… but that doesn’t matter right now.

“Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus gave their lives to save this world – to save all of us. They died to guarantee the survival of the universe around us. Whatever I am to be, I have the opportunity to grow into it _because_ of their sacrifice. I’m not here to replace Optimus, or take his place… only to carry on in his honour.”

His voice grew hard. “If you don’t like that or can’t handle it, that’s fine – these are things we can discuss later, when the black hole’s closed once and for all. Right now, like Blur said, we need to be _anywhere but here_. And I know the Stellar Galleries will be safe haven for us. So, if you’ll all allow me…”

Rodimus transformed. Dense steel plating swarmed and bunched around itself, reshaping into a squat, deadly-looking vehicle. Four thick, heavily-treaded tyres supported an angular chassis, complete with thin shielded windows, hard points to attach weaponry, and a swivel turret on the roof.

It reminded Arcee of the armoured cars that, back on Earth, delivered precious materials to banks. Rodimus, she realised, had turned himself into an armoured car – part Ultra Magnus, part Optimus Prime – for the most valuable jewel in the universe. He wasn’t taking possession of the Matrix… he was _guarding_ it.

“Autobots!” he yelled – no, _commanded_. “Transform and roll out!”

They all did so – perhaps more by reflex than anything else. Arcee gingerly loaded Thundercracker onto Red Alert’s “sidecar” medical bay, then folded herself into a sleek motorbike. With Rodimus at the lead, the Autobots drove, loped and soared out of the Manganese Mountains.

She pulled alongside Rodimus and tried to catch his attention. Either he was focused on other matters or he was ignoring her. Arcee activated her internal communicator, wanting to say something to him… explain what had happened before, back on the steps of the Tower, and to let him know…

“Incoming!” Swoop bellowed, diving low and buzzing over their roofs. “Whole frelling bunch of incoming, and incoming _fast_!”

“The Decepticons are back already?” Nightbeat asked.

“Impossible – I’d have heard them from miles away,” Checkpoint said.

“Not the Decepticons,” Rodimus said. There was a strange tone to his voice… a haunted, distant note that seemed out of place in one so young. “Worse.”

A whistling sound filled the air around them. It reminded Arcee of a locust storm she’d watched, back on Earth. But the sound was more intense, more… threatening. Rotating her forward sensors up, she caught a glimpse of busy, complex movement.

They were trapped in seconds, surrounded at every turn by tiny, black-and-gold spheres. There were at least a dozen of the balls for each Autobot, and they whistled angrily as they zipped in and out of the spaces between the convoy. Without warning they transformed, not into robots but into horribly familiar flying guns.

“Aw, frell,” Scattorshot drawled. “These are the same critters Unicron threw at us when he tried to chow down on Cybertron!”

“Dead End,” Vector Prime breathed, awestruck. “The Mini-con partner Primus created for Nemesis Prime! Unicron has corrupted him, cloned him… and turned him loose!”

Rodimus transformed to robot mode, then transformed again. The Autobots watched, stunned, as their new leader sprouted guns. _Lots_ of guns. His back cannons began moving of their own accord, independently tracking the festering army. Their undersides opened up, revealing row after row of miniature missiles. Similar weapons pods sprung from his upper shoulders and lower legs. A panel in his leg flipped around, exposing a holstered Energon dagger. Most shockingly of all, a long and deadly Energon sword extended from his left forearm and _hummed_ to savage life.

“Take ‘em down!” he barked, and waded into the storm of enemies. The whistling turned to squeals as Rodimus’ blades sliced through the Mini-con clones like overripe fruit. Those that tried to escape his onslaught found themselves on the business end of a missile, or shot out of the sky by one of his cannons.

“I see he still takes time to carefully assess a situation before committing to action,” Tow-Line sighed as he transformed. “Thank goodness he learned _something_ before we handed the keys over to him.”

“How about,” Arcee said, low and menacingly, “you shut the frack up and do what the boss tells you to do?”

Tow-Line gulped and began laying down cover fire.

The battle raged for what seemed like hours. No matter how many of the drones they took down, more rose to take their place. Their enemies were flimsy and easily destroyed, but the sheer weight of numbers was staggering… and exhausting.

“They’re not indestructible,” Nightbeat quipped, shooting two with a single blast, “but they’re everywhere.”

“Force ‘em back,” Rodimus yelled, fighting to stay upright on the constantly shifting surface. The tremors had intensified while they’d struggled, and the geography around them was changing. Where once there had been nothing but sky, towers, pillars and entire cities filled the horizon. The geometric jigsaw that was Cybertron was transforming, all right… and the Autobots were right in the middle of one of the main joins. If they didn’t move soon, they’d be crushed by overlapping pieces – or fall into a yawning chasm.

Arcee sighted down her bow and nocked an arrow. She tensed her arm and pulled the bolt taught… just as he target flittered away. The squealing stopped and the whistling returned as the drones sailed back toward orbit. As they moved, they seemed to melt into floating puddles of thin, black ooze. The puddles congealed into one shiny mass.

“Look like stuff Meggie chucked up when Prime… old Prime… hit him,” Grimlock said.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Rodimus muttered.

The black sludge hovered, for just a moment, then put on a burst of speed. It was visible for another few minutes – a dark outline against the star scape – before it vanished at the edge of the black hole.

As they watched, the edge of the singularity ignited. Orange flames leapt and danced around the ebony core – a hideous parody of a second sun – then consumed it, turning millions of miles of black hole into a blistering red plane. Long, dagger-like shapes came into view. They seemed to be behind the red field, and grew bigger as they approached. The closer they came, the easier it was to tell what they really were.

Eyes.

Jets of flame, hundreds of miles long, spouted from the fiery singularity as a nightmarish face punctured its smouldering surface. It was pockmarked, damaged and utterly ruined, yet it was still far more hideous than anything else Arcee had encountered. First the face, and then the entire devil-shaped head, poked its way into the star scape and lolled, at a sickening angle, toward Cybertron.

There was no way to tell if it was still attached to anything but it didn’t matter. The unholy intelligence that had, for millennia, wanted nothing more than the annihilation of the Transformer race was still present… still hungry… still anxious to slaughter them all.

The head of Unicron jutted out from its funeral pyre and roared.


	3. Chapter 3

Bulkhead required no further proof of his madness but the universe, it seemed, was determined to provide examples.

He awoke, disoriented and puzzled. His last memories were garbled, fragmented like an inferior hard drive. Though it made no sense, Bulkhead was sure he’d been _back_ in the Imperial Amphitheatre, watching…

No. He dismissed the thought, shaking his head clear. Just the CINS. He might me crazy, but there was no way he would have attacked a fellow Autobot – even a less-than-trustworthy one – to act out some kind of scheme. It wasn’t his style, he reasoned, and turned his attention to other matters.

He was strapped to a table in the med bay, but whatever they’d tranquillised him with – some kind of invasive worm virus, likely – had worn off early. Good. He was sick and tired of being poked and prodded like an experimental protoform. Time to move.

Snapping the bonds had posed little problem for one of his strength. The moment he was free, however, he rose madly into the air and slammed into the ceiling above his head.

Above? No, below… the entire med bay was _upside down_. Around him lay scattered tools and broken glassware. Fluid leaked from several CR chambers, forming silver pools by his feet. A damaged Transformer lay in the dregs of the fluid. Peering close, he saw it was that fembot from Speedia… Override. Missing a leg. When had she been injured?

He knew he was mad, but this was something altogether else. CINS had wreaked havoc on his systems for centuries without warping his sense of spatial relationships. Was this some new symptom of the disease, a new torture to endure?

Bulkhead tried not to think about it. Carefully, he picked his way across the ceiling and climbed up to the door. It still opened, thankfully, but onto nothing but air. He transformed into his vehicle mode – a green and white helicopter – and hovered out.

The surface of Cybertron was still below him, where it should be, but other sections of Iacon had taken up startling new positions. The Decagon was at right angles to the Tower of Pion, instead of below and east of it. The Energon Pools had emptied their contents onto the Tower, coating it in glistening liquid. The Grand Oratory had unfolded like a paper box and spread itself, flat, across the horizon. And, for the first time in history, Macaddam’s Old Oil House was _above_ the surface!

Only the Stellar Galleries remained in their usual place. Undisturbed, they nevertheless glowed softly, as if their strange “waters” had come to life. Swinging around, Bulkhead saw a totally new building – the same size and shape as the Galleries, possessed of the same faint radiance. It was positioned on the other side of the Tower, equidistant from its twin. For a moment, Bulkhead fancied they were a pair of massive, unblinking optics.

He dropped to the surface… or, at least, the flattened plains of the Grand Oratory… and transformed back to robot mode. He stopped looking around and, instead, looked up – all at once realising how insane he truly was.

There, wreathed by a halo of fire, was the snarling head of Unicron.

\-----

“The others are reporting in,” Tow-Line yelled over the ferocious winds. “Ironhide, Storm Jet, Crosswise and all of their teams are fine. They were inside the Decepticon… the _former_ Decepticon strongholds when Primus decided to take up isometrics. ‘Course, all of the fortresses have stayed more or less where they already were – gaining altitude in a few cases, but not flipping around or splitting in half.” He grimaced. “The only place that’s happened…”

“Is right under our feet,” Rodimus Prime sighed. “About typical, isn’t it?”

“I don’t care to think about it… _Prime_ ,” Tow-Line said snidely. “I’m sure you understand – not stopping to think about things, and all.”

Rodimus bristled, but reigned in his anger. Like it or not, he was in charge of the Autobots now, which meant resisting the temptation to deck the cynical journalist. He’d have time enough to prove his worth to Tow-Line after he guaranteed their survival.

“Unicron has not attacked yet,” Vector Prime said, placing a hand on Rodimus’ shoulder. He was still covering the wound on his chest. “But it will not be long before he regains what is left of his faculties.”

He looked around. The Autobots… _his_ Autobots… were in disarray. Blur dashed from place to place, never still. Scattorshot was dangling from a newly formed cliff, desperately reaching out to a fallen Checkpoint. Nightbeat and Grimlock were doing their best to tether the blue half-tank, while Snarl looked on dispassionately. Swoop was in the air, blasting the chunks of debris that fell toward the group. Any he missed were swatted from the sky by Omega Supreme and Landfill, or deftly shot down by Silverstreak. Red Alert and Downshift, assisted by Swerve, made emergency repairs on Thundercracker.

Arcee was staring straight at him. Her optics burrowed into his Spark, questing for answers he could not provide. Rodimus returned her gaze, thankful for the mask-like plate that hid all but his eyes. _How many emotions_ , he wondered, _did Optimus hide behind his mouth plate? How we were all in mortal danger, scared oil-less, reassured only by his calm demeanour? And how many of those times was Optimus just as terrified, his fears separated from ours by nothing but a flimsy piece of metal?_

Harsh words, spat in the heat of battle, ran through his processor. _You are so immature, do you know that?_ she’d yelled. _Why don’t you try acting your age, Roddy, and get a clue?_

They’d stung then, and they stung now. Rodimus was acting his age, all right… stepping into the role that, depending on whom you asked, he’d been created to fill. Destiny made manifest, and all that rubbish. His acceptance, his maturity – all the things she’d wanted from him, all the things she’d found, instead, in Thundercracker – would forever separate them. As Autobot commander, his responsibilities to his mechs, and to peace, came first. He’d have no time for… well, for _whatever_ was going on between them.

“Rodimus,” Vector Prime urged. “If you do not take action against the Chaos Bringer, now, this entire nightmare will begin again.”

He turned away from Arcee and stared into the maw of a nightmare. Unicron’s head, once gold, was now obsidian. Thin, fluorescent green lines sketched grids over some areas, a sign of agonizingly slow regeneration. Rodimus knew, from past experience, that Unicron fed on negative energy. No doubt he’d sent his drone army to spur a battle, just enough of a fight to power his final surge out of the black hole. If the rest of his body was in there, waiting for a similar boost, their death warrants were all but sealed. Half-transformed as it was, Cybertron – Primus – could be destroyed by a single blow.

“I know what I have to do,” Rodimus said, nodding sagely. “I can feel it in here.” He tapped his chest. “I’m just not sure I’m capable of doing it.”

Someone slapped him in the back of the head. He glared furiously at a smirking Grimlock. “Thought me told you,” the Dinobot rumbled, “there be no doubt once you take bauble. Punk kid _still_ no listen good. Audio in new body bit fuzzy, eh?”

He straightened his shoulders. “There legend,” he said quietly. “Never put much stock in it myself, but hey – if last few cycles teach us anything, it that there some truth to legends after all.” Grimlock locked optics with him. “Legend say that, one day, Transformer rise from ranks and use power of Matrix to light darkest hour. Sound silly, me know, but look ‘round… ever seen much darker than now?”

Beneath his mask, Rodimus grinned. “If we get out of this alive, Grimlock,” he said, “I might just let you be my second-in-command.”

Grimlock snorted. “We survive this, I want slagging _promotion_.”

Rodimus spared one last glance at his mechs… one final, forlorn look at Arcee… and took to the sky. He heard shocked gasps behind him. Autobots, generally, could not fly in robot mode – but he’d been determined to fix a few faults in his design. At a point during his Matrix-induced reformatting… which had been far less painful than he’d expected… Rodimus had realised he could _control_ the alterations. And so he’d ensured not only that he was a heavily-armoured, well-armed tribute to Optimus and Ultra Magnus… but that he had one-up on your average mech, too.

The winds and bizarre gravity wells of the singularity pulled and sucked at him, but he pushed on regardless. Unicron loomed, but he felt no fear. The horrific Chaos Bringer had been reduced to a slavering animal that lashed out in pain and terror. The shell game it had played with Megatron’s body, with Starscream’s ego, had been its last gambit. No longer was it the dark god of legend, the beast come to devour them all. It was a mad dog ready to be put down for its own sake, as well as that of the universe. It was broken.

He flew higher and higher, well out of planetary orbit and into space itself. Pieces of Cybertron loomed and shifted behind him, and he noticed them taking on a distinctive shape. Matrix-enhanced perceptions showed him a sight too massive for normal optics… a glimpse of the ultimate Transformer.

The surface of the planet had split into four hemispheres – two of which nestled against powerful, immensely long legs while the others rose, wing-like, over gun-bearing shoulders. Beneath the steely plains of Cybertron lay a chassis of Matrix blue and pristine ivory, flecked with gold. Black fingers unfurled from bulky forearms, each festooned with gun emplacements. Rodimus took a moment to stare into the still-deactivated eyes of his creator – pools of shimmering light set into dark recesses – and noticed the buildings of Iacon surrounded them.

He turned his back on Primus, letting the full horror of Unicron sink into his processor. The Chaos Bringer’s optics were full of static, and its mouth opened and shut rapidly. If the creature was talking to him, babbling something inane, he could not make it out. Deep in his Spark, he felt sorrow for the twisted beast, and a desire to grant it peace. Giving himself over to the emotion, he opened his chest plate and removed the Matrix.

At his touch, finger holes opened in the artefact’s silver handles. He slotted his digits into place, tensing his arms and steeling his mental resolve. Unbidden, words flowed from his mouth. “Now,” he whispered. “Light our darkest hour.”

With a supreme effort, Rodimus pulled the handles away from the Matrix. Blue light lanced in every direction, illuminating the voice and filling his audio sensors with a deep, vibrating hum. It grew, both in clarity and intensity, until he recognised it for what it was.

Voices.

“Awright, you mechs!” crowed a deep, gruff voice. “You wanted out, now it’s time to earn the right – get over there and pull that big chunk’a slag down!”

Rodimus’ jaw slackened and his optics telescoped wide. In the past few breems, he’d seen amazing things – death and sacrifice, true transformation, the purest love, the deepest hate and the face of a god. But nothing… _nothing_ could compare to this.

From the deepest recesses of the Matrix burst forth an armada of translucent, glowing mechanoids – the Sparks of every Transformer that had ever died. Rodimus saw many he knew or had heard of… Ratchet, Hoist, Smokescreen, Thrust, Saidos, Ransack… and millions of others he did not recognise.

He watched as Evac flashed by, spinning his rotor-blade sword in his right hand. At the head of the assault, Metroplex – the murdered leader of Gigalonia – swung his mighty buzz saw. “Autobots!” he roared. “Decepticons! Grounders, Flyers, Red and Purple Masks! Transformers, one and all… attack!”

\-----

Ghosts. They were everywhere… _everywhere_!

Bulkhead sank to his knees, throwing his arms over his head and convulsing. Never had his delusions been this bad – this horrifying! He could almost _feel_ his processor buckle and pop inside his cranium.

“Hey you,” said a cold voice. “Stand up. We wanna look at’cha.”

He cowered. “Please!” he begged, all trace of dignity lost. “Please, just leave me alone! I can’t handle it anymore – I can’t take it! Just go away, _please_ , and let me die!”

“Dying?” the voice scoffed. “That’s no way for a Wrecker to talk.”

Bulkhead looked up. Seven figures were clustered around, each wreathed in shimmering blue. They were his brothers in arms! Landmine and Landquake, side-by-side as always. Cliffjumper, Roadblock, Overcast and Wingsaber. And, in front of them all, just like he had always been… was Scavenger.

“We’ve never been the sort of mechs to take time out from a tussle,” Scavenger grinned, “but we figured we’d make an exception for you, big guy.”

“You gotta let us go, Bulkhead. We’re in your past, and there’s so much more out there for you to do. That new kid, Rodimus, he’s got his cranium screwed on right. It’s not about surviving without your friends, it’s about living on _in their honour_. So quit all this self-pitying slag and go scrap a few ‘cons for us, willya? Start with that Sharkticon creep… he always did torque my drive shaft, back in the day.”

Bulkhead stood up, smiling genuinely for the first time in more than eight million years. He felt a knot, deep in his Spark, untie and fall away. There was still death, destruction and ruin around him… but it was _real_ , not some flight of fancy. There were no more surges of neural energy, just a heck of a desire to induce some combat.

“Once more for the road,” Cliffjumper grinned.

The ghosts pumped their fists into the air. Bulkhead joined them, lubricant weeping from his optics. “Wreck and Rule!” they cried in unison. The seven ghosts… his greatest friends… lifted into the air and rejoined the glowing blue column that stabbed into the heart of the fiery singularity. Scavenger looked back, just once, then flew away.

Bulkhead – the last of the Wreckers – slapped himself in the face. Twice. He relished the sting, soaked himself in the rush of pulses through his neural pathways. His greatest friends may have gone off to their final battle, but his new friends were out there waiting for him.

He went to transform, to soar toward the Manganese Mountains. Then he thought for a moment… and headed back into the med bay.

\-----

Unicron bellowed. It screamed. It wailed. Every syllable, every cry, rattled the very void around him. But Rodimus Prime would not move, would not relent. As much as the suffering disgusted him… as much as it made his sump churn… he stayed resolute. Everything depended, now, on his strength – and the Sparks of the Transformer race.

“Until all are one” – at long last, he knew what it meant. _Well Optimus_ , he thought, hoping his mentor would hear the words, _it’s finally happened. All are one, irrespective of allegiance or belief. Within the depths of the Matrix, the lines blurred and the old animosities died out. United, we’re ending a cycle that began at the dawn of time. Primus could never defeat Unicron – creation and entropy cancel each other out, with no result. But the Matrix is creation and entropy, good and evil… life, in all its wonder and destitution. And no force is more powerful than life._

Metroplex lopped off a horn with his weapon. Evac gouged out delicate wiring. Thrust bombarded the cruel face plate until it hung at sickening angles. The Wreckers swarmed into the thick of it, detonating whole sections with weaponry long since outlawed. Unicron was being systematically dismantled, eaten away, right before Rodimus’ optics.

Suddenly, the ethereal armada drew back. The Transformers lost their shapes, reducing down to points of blue light. Rodimus had but a second to wonder what had happened when two arms, large beyond description, reached past him. Black fingers dug into the edges of the singularity, extinguishing the enormous flames with a touch. A mighty voice, unhindered by the airless void of space, boomed around them.

“All… are one,” it said.

Unicron cried out – a bleating, defeated sound – as the singularity was wrenched shut around it. The black edges sliced through its neck like a guillotine, decapitating the demon-like head. Jagged, knife-like optics flared red for a moment, then burned out.

The immense arms drew back, already beginning to fold back into themselves. Rodimus spun in place, locking optics with Primus. “This,” he breathed, suddenly seized by panic, “can’t be the end. There’s so much to fix, so much that needs to be redressed…”

“Peace, my child,” Primus said. “All will be well.”

The planetary behemoth changed colours – blue, then purple, then green and red – and moved with blinding speed, curling around onto itself and reforming into a ball. The head of Unicron shuddered, then sank down and began to orbit the steel-grey planet. A horrid moon… and a reminder. Rodimus blinked, and Cybertron was whole once again.

Whole? Not quite. The Sparks of the dead still hovered by him, while the handles of the Matrix dangled from his fingers. Rodimus glanced at the blue lights, trying to figure out which one was Metroplex. Then he gave up and addressed them all.

“Time to go home,” he told them, raising the silver handles high above his head. “Your _true_ home.”

One by one, the Sparks darted into the Matrix. But they did not remain there. As each one passed through the silver-and-orange orb, it left behind it a tribute – power and wisdom, knowledge and experience. The bulk of their forms arced downward, toward the Manganese Mountains… and the Well of All Sparks.

Rodimus followed, taxing his flight ability to its limit. He made his way through the mountains and almost to the mouth of the tunnel before a wall of energy rose in his path. He pulled up short. Something was happening, but he had no idea what it was.

It started slowly – the vaguest hint of gilding in a grey metal panel. Then it flowed over the surface of the planet like a tsunami, coating everything it touched with a sheen of the purest gold.

Rodimus dropped to the ground, still holding the Matrix, and was quickly joined by the stunned Autobots. A moment later, a helicopter lowered from the sky and landed alongside them – Bulkhead, returned at last. Beneath him, he carried Override, her optics still dark and lifeless.

The group gasped as the wave seeped over them as well, healing their injuries and refreshing their Energon supplies. He heard Swerve cry out, elated, as his damaged fingers re-knitted themselves and returned to full function. The gash in Vector Prime’s chest sealed over, while Thundercracker’s neck straightened and snapped into place. The ex-Decepticon gently rose to his feet. “Well, slag on me,” he said.

In Bulkhead’s arms, Override moaned as the gold washed over her ruined hip, regenerating her missing leg. Blur was by her side in less than an instant, cradling her face in his hands and cooing over her. “It’sfineyou’rerightyou’regood,” he whispered, over and over. “Wedidit, ladyfemme, wedidit!”

As the souls of its people flowed into its core, Primus… Cybertron… shed its skin and took on new life. Damaged, ruined buildings melted away and reformed, as pristine as the day they were erected. Scarred landscape healed over, unblemished. And, in the mouth of the Vector Sigma tunnel, towered an unfamiliar figure.

It was a massive being, draped in red, white and blue finery. Grey wings rose from its back, while a thick shield – branded with a solid gold Autobot insignia – spread across its expansive chest. Twin missile launchers, topped by twin cannons, surrounded a ruby helmet trimmed with silver markings and gold antennae. The crest, the eyes, the mask-like mouth plate, left no doubt that the being they gazed upon was a Prime.

It stepped forward and spoke in a strange, stereo-effect voice. “United we stand,” the new Autobot said. “The binary Spark. The Omega Prime.”

The unmistakable sound of transformation filled their audio sensors. The upper and lower sections of the giant fell away, joined in the middle and began to reshape. Tall, lean and winged, a mechanoid rose up above them and smiled. It bore an Autobot crest on its blue forehead, and in its hands it clutched a long, lethal weapon. The device was half as tall as its owner, and bristled with every conceivable form of munition… as had the Overload platform, so long ago.

From out the armour stepped a second being – one for whom their Sparks cried out with joy. It was a crimson warrior, standing proud on thick, windowed legs. On its chest were two rectangular, crystal blue screens and, set below them, was a pattern of chrome not unlike the abdominal muscles of a human being. Tiny red wings peeked out from its shoulders and, between them, sat a face most welcome and familiar.

“Optimus Prime!” Scattorshot whooped. “He’s alive! And that means the other guy… the other guy is Ultra Magnus!”

The little blue half-tank raced across to the lithe giant and leaped up, wrapping his arms around the Earthforce Commander. Magnus chuckled, returning the embrace. The other Autobots crowded around their returned leaders, alternately expressing relief and surprise. It was some time before Optimus could calm them down enough to speak.

“Long ago, when I became Prime, I had a vision,” he said. “In the waters of the Oracle Tank, I saw colours change… silver, then black and, finally, gold. At the time I dismissed it as a glitch, an aberration of my optical sensors. Today, I understand what the Matrix was trying to tell me. It wanted to speak of rebirth.

“All of this is a final gift from Primus,” he explained. “New life from old. Our home world is reborn, our universe safe, and our bodies restored. All of you are owed a great debt of gratitude, Autobots… and none more so than our new leader.”

Rodimus smirked. “Now I _know_ you’re kidding,” he said. “This may be my destiny, my birthright or whatever you want to call it… but I’d be a fool to try and lead this bunch of ‘bots when the right mech for the job is standing in front of me.” He held out the sacred artefact. “Optimus… the Matrix of Leadership.”

The ruby warrior looked at it for a moment. “No,” he said finally. “The _Creation Matrix_.” Optimus took the object from Rodimus, opened his chest plate and inserted it into the cavity.

In unison, the optics of the two Primes flared blue. When the glow dimmed, Rodimus had changed shape. He was no longer a bulky tank-like warrior, bristling with weaponry. Nor was he the slightly gawky, ungainly-looking truck-bot he had been, just breems ago. He was something… in between.

He retained the general shape and design of his Prime-mode, including the helmet and visor – but not the mask. But his chassis had trimmed down, become sleek – almost like a mech from Speedia. Three-barrelled cannons ran down the sides of his forearms, while wings sprouted from a raised section on his back. The blue and red colour scheme had faded away, replaced with the fiery reds and oranges of his original body.

“Stuck halfway,” Grimlock chortled. “That teach you to hand back destiny.”

The Autobots erupted with laughter, and Rodimus joined in. Even Thundercracker, he saw, cracked the thinnest of smiles. For the first time in his young life, Rodimus felt truly at peace. “We did it, didn’t we?” he asked. “We saved the whole frelling universe, and liberated our own planet at the same time.”

“Forever the master of the obvious!” Tow-Line quipped, his good humour returned at last. “Yes, kid, we pulled it off… somehow, we snagged the happy ending.”

Rodimus looked around at his friends. They’d all been changed by their experiences. Some physically… all emotionally. He glanced at Optimus Prime… at Ultra Magnus and Grimlock, the rest of the Autobots and then, finally, at Arcee. She smiled at him from her place at Thundercracker’s side. _What_ , Rodimus wondered, _is going to happen with us now? I wish I had a single clue_.

He pondered Tow-Line’s words. It was the end of the battle, for certain, but not of the war. Somewhere, far from Cybertron, Starscream and the Decepticons were plotting their revenge. And, while connected to the Matrix, he’d sensed another presence… a different faction, waiting for its time to rise. Further away still, at the very edge of his awareness, he’d touched something old and malevolent – a jealousy, an indignation, that had chilled his very fluids. A seething mass of negative emotion that was _very_ focused on the Transformers.

No, the journalist was wrong. In his heart of hearts, Rodimus knew… it never ends.

“We have much left to do,” Optimus said, “both here, and on other worlds. We owe debts to Speedia, Animatros and Gigalonia… debts that must be fulfilled. Our war is over, at least for now, and our destinies lie elsewhere. Let us return to Iacon and make ready – we have new adventures waiting for us.

“Autobots… transform!” he ordered.

Optimus folded in on himself, taking on the form of a bright red, Earth-style fire truck. Magnus transformed into a massive white-and-blue car carrier. Rodimus changed, and could not stop his cheers when he found himself in the form of a sleek, high-performance racing car. “Yes!” he cried. The rest of the Autobots laughed again and transformed – joined a moment later by Thundercracker, the unrepentant ex-Decepticon.

“Roll out!” Optimus Prime cried… and they did.

\-----

Below the surface of Cybertron, Vector Sigma rose. The Well of All Sparks shone brightly for the first time in millions of years, its vast confines holding the life forces of a race without coming close to being full. The spherical supercomputer noted this, and was pleased. It hovered silently back to the ceiling of the chamber and powered down.

All was quiet in the chamber. All was peaceful in the chamber. All was empty in the chamber… for the body of Megatron had _disappeared_.


End file.
